but she also wanted his respect.
Jud was taking a risk having Sylvia declared dead so that he could collect her insurance money. Even now, the cops might still charge him with her murder. Only the lack of a body had kept him from being arrested at the time she went missing.
For seven years he’d dreaded waking up to cops beating on his door, dragging him off in handcuffs in front of Colleen, because some hunter had discovered Sylvia’s bones in the woods.
He was still eighty percent certain his wife had run away to start a new life.
The remaining twenty percent kept him looking over his shoulder.
The cops had never believed in the stranger-killer theory. The homicide detectives were old-school. Anything happens to the wife, the husband probably did it. Jud had had motive, no alibi and the best opportunity to kill her and hide her body. There had been no evidence of anyone else at the scene, and random killers didn’t generally operate at night on a country road in a downpour.
He’d been forced to admit that when he was a boy, he’d hunted in the Putnam Woods Conservation Preserve, across the road from where Sylvia’s car had been found. He’d done so years before the owner died and left it to the state as protected wildlife habitat. Since then the trees had grown, and the undergrowth and marshes had changed the woods, but the fact that he’d once been familiar with it was enough for the detectives. One more nail in his coffin—or hers—as they’d told him repeatedly.
If she’d been dumped by someone unfamiliar with the area, she’d have been found by now, even if buried in a shallow grave. The detectives had warned him that bodies always surfaced sooner or later. They’d quickly declared him the only suspect, and had stopped looking for anyone else.
Jud was so lost in his thoughts, recalling the past, that he jumped when the telephone beside him rang. He cleared his throat and answered it.
“Daddy?”
He smiled, although he knew Colleen couldn’t see him. “You got me, sweetheart.”
“I just called to say good-night. Gran says she’ll pick me up after school tomorrow and take me to soccer, then drop me by your office afterward.”
“Thank her for me.”
“I will. Good night, Daddy. Oh, Gran wants to talk to you.”
He sighed. He wasn’t looking forward to this conversation.
“Jud, honey?”
“Why are you whispering, Irene?”
“I don’t want Herb or Colleen to hear me. That man Jenkins from the insurance company came to see me this morning. Thank God Herb wasn’t here. You’re really going ahead with it?”
“Trip’s already started the paperwork to have Sylvia declared dead. It’s time, Irene. I’m sorry if it upsets everyone. I can use the money to send Colleen to a good college. As it is, I barely keep up with her school tuition. An Ivy League college is out of the question, even with a partial scholarship.”
“I know it’s hard for you, but I do not like that Jenkins fellow. He acts as though it’s his own money. He as good as told me he was going to pull some strings and get the police to reopen the case.”
Jud heard the question mark behind that sentence. His mother-in-law was really asking whether he had anything to worry about. She swore she believed him when he told her he’d had nothing to do with Sylvia’s disappearance, but hearing Herb condemn him as a killer for seven years must have eroded her belief in his innocence at least a bit.
“It’s going to be hard on Colleen,” he said. “Everything dragged up all over again. When she was seven, she really didn’t understand what a divorce would have meant to her. If they reopen the case, her schoolmates will probably dredge up the story of the disappearing mother and the murderous father. I wish I could keep her wrapped in cotton, but it’s time to get it finished once and for all.”
“I’ll be here for Colleen, dear. And for you, too. I know what Sylvia was really like, even if Colleen and Herb don’t. I’ll pray for you.”
“Pray for all of us.”
After he hung up, he leaned back in his chair, took a long drink of his bourbon and closed his eyes. He’d lived carefully for seven years. Now he was about to take the biggest risk of his life. Only time would tell whether he’d made the right decision.
LIZ CLIMBED OUT of her Honda in front of the Weichert and Slaughter construction trailer and stepped into a cold mud puddle. She hadn’t seen it, given the late-afternoon shadows.
Great. You’d think a construction company would have enough leftover gravel to keep their parking area dry. Her boots were now covered with mud. Her black slacks were splashed, as well, and the darn things had to be dry-cleaned.
She left muddy footprints on the wooden stairs up to the trailer entrance, where an industrial rubber welcome mat lay. She scraped off as much muck as she could, and opened the door.
After staying up past midnight poring over the murder book, then spending most of today on the evidence box, Liz agreed with the two homicide detectives who had handled the case the first time. Jud Slaughter had gotten away with murder.
So far. That was about to change.
She’d hoped for a picture of Slaughter, but since he’d never been arrested, he hadn’t been photographed. He’d volunteered his prints and DNA at the time, but the only description she had was that he was a big man.
The previous afternoon Randy Railsback had brought her a cup of coffee, plunked his skinny butt down on the chair beside her desk and asked her to dinner. To discuss the case. Right. If Randy Randy continued to hit on her during office hours she was going to hit him upside his expensively coiffed head.
Since Randy had been riding a squad car seven years earlier, he knew no more than she did about the case. Jack Samuels, however, had wandered over when he’d heard them talking. “Slaughter looked like a jock,” he said. “Probably played college football. More than able to carry a hundred-twenty-pound corpse far back into those woods and dig a grave deep enough to keep the coyotes away. By now he’s probably got a beer gut, no hair and an ulcer. Murder’ll do that to you…if you have any conscience at all.”
So Liz expected to find a big man gone to seed. The only person in the trailer had his back to her. Broad back, broad shoulders. He was wearing chinos, muddy work boots and a down jacket, although the room was comfortably warm. She couldn’t tell about the gut.
He heard her come in, turned around and stood. “Hey, can I help you?” he asked.
No paunch! And not the least bit bald! No wonder Sylvia Slaughter had fallen for him. Most women would. He was not just big, he was immense, and good-looking in a craggy way. His nose had obviously been broken more than once. Jack said he’d played football, and Liz would bet he’d been a linebacker or a tackle. Running into him would be like hitting a marble column.
Yeah, he could carry a corpse a long way into the woods and dig a grave without breaking a sweat.
At five feet eleven inches, Liz didn’t look up to many men, but she had to tilt her head way back to stare into his guileless gray eyes. He had more than
